Silver Gulls
by Estoma
Summary: Before they were victors, they were children.


**Author's note: For Sanch, for the GGE, and for Johanna's challenge at Caesar's Palace; the starting line and the ending line must be the same. **

High above, the gulls were crying again. The old myths told that the silver Pacific gulls leant the shelter of their feathers to the souls of those who drowned at sea. Nestled against the downy breast feathers, the poor souls wailed their final goodbyes to loved ones while the gulls alighted on windowsills, cabin rooves and rails. Old Samor Cresta said the leader of the gulls made a deal with Hades of the dark underworld, the keeper of the dead. The gulls agreed to ferry the drowned sailors and fishermen in payment for the bones and entrails they tossed from their decks. Grandda said that the birds sounded so mournful because they heard the tragic tales of so many lost men. But Annie didn't think they looked very sad as they swooped and dove and hunted the bits of rough, salty bread that she threw them.

"Oh, shhh," Annie laughed. The dozen or so gulls around her feet coked their heads and watched her with red-ringed eyes. One half-raised its wings and showed the downy white breast feathers. Annie wanted to touch them. "Here, you can finish the rest."

A dozen birds rose, light as dancers, into the air, following the arch of the little scrap of bread. It was as if they were marionettes on the same string. Biggest and ugliest of the flock, a gull who had but a stump of a leg snatched the prize from the tangle of wings and beaks. It swallowed. Annie laughed at the obvious lump in its neck. The others cried their disappointment as they settled back to the sandy soil. Puffed with pride, the winner gulped once, twice.

With a curious little grin, the girl pretended to cup something in her hands. The birds watched. When she flung her empty hands high, they all leapt up in a flurry of feathers. She chuckled. The next time she plated the trick only half jumped. Finally only the slowest of birds continued to rise for the bait. Annie stopped. Eyeing her mournfully, the old one-legged gull folded its wings. The girl dropped her hands and lowered her gaze. She bit her lip. Annie wondered how many souls the tough old creature had ferried over the waves, and how many storms it had battled on its way.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Contritely, Annie sat on the rickety fence that separated Finnick's yard from the sandy path than ran down to Marrawah Beach. Strands of seaweed decorated the posts, leftover from the last king tide. When the sea surged past its customary borders, all the houses along the Shoreline at Marrawah flooded. Photos and books were never kept on the ground in Finnick's house. Once, for a whole week in summer, there was a curious smell coming from Finnick's cupboard. It permeated his clothes, and the other kids at the _Dock Academy_ teased him because he smelt of old fish. It wasn't until he and his father took the boards along the bottom of the cupboard up with a crowbar that they found a decaying minnow. It must have been swept in with the last king tide. It died waiting for the water to return.

Annie sighed. She blew a strand of hair, heavy with salt, from her forehead. For a moment, a sharp gust of wind pressed her dress tight to her body. Annie was tall for her age, but the three days a week she spent at the _Dock Academy_ had not yet started to pare away her baby fat. When she smiled, her cheeks dimpled. Scuffing her feet in the sandy soil, making patterns with her toes, she did not look like a volunteer in training.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Finnick!" she squealed. The girl stumbled from the fence. "I was feeding the gulls. That big on, with half a leg, he got most of the bread. He's not very good at sharing."

"You don't need to feed gulls," Finnick said. "They can eat guts and rubbish. They don't need bread."

Annie took a pace back. Her brow crinkled. The lecture was uncharacteristic and she did not hesitate to let Finnick know. "I can feed them if I want."

Another gust of wind whipped Annie's dress close against her legs and lifted the hem of Finnick's shirt. The extra food and the money that the _Docks_ paid to his family had filled out his concave stomach and there was even a little spare to start building muscle. While the Odairs had never been starving exactly, they lived precariously close to poverty. Annie's father told her not to mention it, but all her brother's old clothes went to Finnick. Even wearing Damon's old shirt, Finnick was beautiful. While all the other boys were growing gangly, hands and feet too big for their bodies, Finnick still carried himself with a kind of grace that made Annie feel awkward around him when she remembered to be.

"Feed them scraps, not good food," Finnick continued. Even two years at the academy, and for once in his life, an abundance of food at the table, could not erase the hungry look from his eyes. Annie shifted her feet and said nothing.

* * *

Somewhere back in the deep past, when Panem, and even the Dark Days, were less than a thought on the breeze, powerful forces moved beneath the earth. Red-hot, raw power churned beneath the fragile crust and surged through deep fissures to the surface. There, the lava met the grey Atlantic Ocean and strove against it. Primal battle ensued and in a furious hiss of steam, the sea claimed its victory and had its way with Gaia's liquid life-blood. The lava cooled and twisted into fearsome and wondrous shapes; torturous, reaching fingers. Thousands of years of waves and coastal winds wore down the awesome sculptures, but the fishermen of District 4 still called the black, volcanic stone Gorgon's Plinth. To reinforce the tale, at the very end of the spit of volcanic rock, a leaning pillar rose six feet tall, facing out to sea. In just the right light, with just the right amount of imagination, it could be Medusa in her black dress and veil, forever gazing out to see for the lover who would never return to look upon her hideous face.

"Come on, I want to show you something special." Annie caught Finnick's hand and dragged him off the path. Their feet looked pale against the black rock, but they were calloused enough to walk over the broken oysters that layered it. Finnick sighed.

"We've been all over the _Plinth_. What is it?"

"_Something special_," Annie repeated.

Finnick dropped Annie's hand to keep his balance. She led the ware fearlessly, towards the lapping tide. It was on the rise, and if they spent more than an hour on the _Plinth_ they would be forced to swim, not walk, back to the beach. They proceeded slowly, a leap, stop, balance, search for a better way and double back. The water sucked and echoed in the deep channels in the rock. It was hungry to finish its task of devouring the stone. Perhaps one day it would.

When the beach and the little path that led down from the road had grown faint, Annie paused. She waited for Finnick to catch up so they could both look down together. The boy caught his breath and his cheeks were flushed. At first he thought the pool was full of blood. Over a thousand, thousand years, the ocean had sculpted a deep bowl in the dark rock. More than three metres across and the same deep it would rival the luxurious spas in the Victor's Village on the headland, for as his eyes made sense of it, Finnick saw that every inch of the rock was lined with rubies. Of course, they were not real gems, but living, gently swaying anemones. Their colour was glistening bright. It could certainly outshine any cold, dead jewel cast in soft gold and strung on wire.

"You found this all by yourself?" Finnick asked.

By way of answering, Annie tossed a cheeky grin over her shoulder and gripped her dress by the hem. She was nearly naked underneath, her chest childish and bare. She leapt into the pool of rubies. Finnick was slower about undressing, and he hung his clothes and hers high above the water on a twisted arm of rock. When he leapt into the pool of rubies, the anemones retracted their glistening tentacles and closed up tight.

The children ducked underwater and opened their eyes against the stinging salt. Legs kicking furiously, they each swam for the bottom. And there, as they looked up, the anemones blended to a crimson blur. Annie held her breath long after Finnick returned to gasp at the surface.

One day, Annie's dagger would make a flood of crimson under the water in her arena, but for now, they were just children. High above, the gulls were crying again.


End file.
